Summer Lake
by Darklooshkin
Summary: After the war, two very close friends share a moment together.


A/N not sure where this came from. Nice, small oneshot about a moment between two friends that mean a lot to each other. Hope you like it.

Disclaimer: Don't own. Don't want to, either. Just playin'.

All was quiet in the mid-afternoon haze of August. Two people sat on the shores of a lake in Scotland, contemplating the view the tiny beachhead offered of a mountainous landscape in full bloom. Truthfully, there was not much to see once you got past the shimmering gleam of the water and the bright greens and browns the lakeside view offered in abundance. It was beautiful, though, even if the distant clouds carried the promise of summer rains with them. Still, beauty was far from the two's minds at that moment.

Though young, it was not hard to notice the taint of war in their posture, eyes roaming the surrounding area, unconsciously scanning for threats only their experienced eyes could have a hope of catching. The scars they carried, though hidden underneath light summer clothes, were nevertheless on display thanks to the small tics and movements the two made, almost as if they were still nursing the aches and pains in wounds now healed over.

It was all a matter of time, they knew. All they had to do was look at the faces of those that bore similar scars, relics of battles long forgotten in the wake of a newly ebbing tide of violence. Their owners, still adjusting for pains long gone, staring into shadows seeking enemies long dead, had moved on from the battles even if their instincts and their bodies hadn't. Given that they were the most likely to have survived the new onslaught, they were the only ones the newly minted veterans of the meaningless bloodshed could turn to for guidance, one generation of veterans welcoming the next into the fold.

The older generations, the ones that once knew peace, were dead, either from defiance or from the crossfire, leaving only a few alive to claim the title of grandparent. No great grandparents were left anymore, generations normally entrusted with safeguarding the values and traditions of their world buried on battlefields, in raided homes or abandoned retirement houses, forced to wither away and starve in the face of dead caretakers and distracted relatives when they were not purposefully murdered by their respective enemies. An entire nation now only knew of war, death and destruction due to the actions of a greedy and idiotic few, their oral history burning alongside the wisdom the now silent minds could have imparted to the young and lost. Not that any of the survivors had had time to take much notice yet, a few of the more dedicated only now bothering to check on their extended family and gather up any fellow survivors.

And yet, laughter could be heard on the shores of the great lake as the two veterans exchanged stories. How this friend or that had captured an enemy by coating their bed with super glue. How an acquaintance had woken up one day, naked, in the kitchen of an unknown house, body hair completely shaven off and a massive gaudy tattoo adorning his/her torso as someone they'd never met sober came down the stairs to check up on their honey-buns. How tipping a pitcher of lemonade became an all-out food fight that degenerated into a running battle between rivals. Neither spoke the names of those they were talking about. It was still unclear to them if this guy or that girl was still alive, and respecting the dead was something the two had learned the hard way.

The peals of laughter echoed up and down the area, the hollow undertone only audible if you were listening for it. One guy, one girl. A deep history, replete with shared triumphs, disagreements and heartaches. Alone, unsupervised, in-between responsibilities, adventures and duties, taking a well deserved break from a world that they'd fought for. Some say it is the start of the oldest story ever told. They would be wrong, of course, but it is the oldest _human_ story ever told. That of the end of a childhood and the start of adult life, a journey whose arrival point is constantly in flux. That's what they would say, but it no longer applied to these two. Their childhood ended long ago, not far from where they sat now. Now they commemorated and mourned its passing, another victim of the pitiless tides of fortune.

"So" the young woman said, her fingers twirling through loose strands of hair as she gazed into the distance. "What now?" She absent-mindedly tilted her head, observing a dragonfly hovering above them.

The man's smile turned wistful, pondering what exactly he was going to tell the girl sitting in front of him. "I was thinking of travelling for a while, visiting some of my friends from abroad." He ran a hand through his messy hair, a habit he'd acquired whenever he broached a sensitive topic. "No sense in staying, after all. At least, not while I am still needed elsewhere."

"Ah," she looked at him with a sad expression "are you sure? They're still out there, you know. The Ministry still hasn't tracked down all of them, and you need some time off."

"I know, but..." he stopped himself, his hand absent-mindedly tracing the scars on his arms. In all honesty, he knew that his friend understood. Hell, she would probably join if he asked nicely, not that he would even consider doing such a thing for another few years. He'd come all this way with her by his side, losing her now would be something he doubted he could live with. He looked at her again, the failed opportunities to spend more time with her, to tell her about how he felt, to _say_ that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her playing through his mind. Too late now.

Another had claimed her as his, someone she'd fallen in love with while he wasn't looking. And one dark, lonely night that he and her had spent on the run together, she'd told him about the man she'd fallen for. About how his brutish table manners and lousy etiquette hid a heart of gold, how she had had enough of waiting for him to make the first move and gone to the other, one he considered to be his best friend to boot.

It hurt, it really did. But the way they'd been together before their war ended told the man that he'd lost that battle before he'd even realised that he had a chance. And he'd found someone he'd fallen for too. He'd broken up with her before he'd gone and fought the good fight, but she'd come back to him after it was all over. She accepted him in her own way, scars, damned sense of nobility and all. But he never truly loved her, couldn't while he was close to the lady he'd shared most of his young life with.

"You always were one for nobility..." she looked away, a pained expression crossing her face. "not that I can blame you." A heavy silence descended, the wind rustling through the long grass nearby the only thing to be heard above it.

"I-look, I can't stay. I mean, i've never left England before, and all this-" he waved at something in the distance "- i've had enough of it for now. I want to go to new places, see new things, think about things..." _Get away from you_, he thought to himself. She closed her eyes, the sad frown suspiciously close to the face she made when she cried. He cursed himself inwardly. He had always been pants at hiding the truth from her.

She sighed "Will you be here for the wedding, at least? His whole family's going to turn up, and mine" she smiled bitterly "are off elsewhere, as you well know."

His eyes acquired a playful glint. "Well, let's see... My two best friends getting married to each other, free food and drinks all around, the whole extended family together again... I'll think about it."

She snickered. "Prat. Is that a yes or a no?"

He looked at her, face completely serious. "Of course i'll be there. You didn't have to ask, you know."

"Good, good. I'll owl you the invitation, okay?" He nodded. "So then" she sighed "i guess this is it."

"Yeah, guess so." He shrugged, fidgeting on the spot.

"I'll miss you, you know. Any idea of where you're going to go first?"

He turned his attention back to the lake. "The states first. Heard lots of nice things about it, always wanted to visit the place. Then Australia, Africa, maybe South America..."

"Blimey, so no idea then?"

He laughed at the knowing smirk on her face. "You're too smart for your own good, you know."

She mock pouted at him. "Oi! I'll have you know that you would not have done half as well without me. _Someone_ had to do the joined-up thinking after all, and you were always far too Gryffindor to do so." She adjusted her straw hat slightly, averting her face from his amused gaze. "Just be careful, alright? The last thing I want to do is lose you too. There are too many of us gone now for that."

"You won't, promise. And if I do get in trouble, I'll come back, even if I'm not in one piece. Fair enough?"

"Best I can expect, under the circumstances." She sighed. "See you later, then."

"Yeah" he stood up, taking a broken quill out of the inner pocket of his pants. "Bye, Dorea. Say hello to Charlus from me."

"Bye Alastor. Say hello to Michele, okay?"

"I will" She beamed happily at her oldest friend, who smiled back. His wand tapped the jagged tip of the quill, a muttered 'Slytherin rules' activating the portkey.

And in the twilight hours of a beautiful August day, a lone figure could be seen weeping on the shores of the Black Lake as a good man marched to war again.


End file.
